


looking for a creation myth

by blackwood (transjon)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (in that jon fluctuates between wait. hm. and yeah ok this is fine), Artificial Insemination, Breeding, Cervix Penetration, Come Inflation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Trans Male Character, also like elias is elias, consensual but it is jonelias, praise kink i guess but its more like Seeking Approval and not a kink, some manipulative nonsense from elias, uh. drip bags full of semen. puts my head in my hands, wholly unwarranted may i add bc jon is already like into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28110810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood
Summary: There is a difference between watching and seeing and looking and knowing. Jon has been spending the past few months learning that intimately.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 23
Kudos: 121





	looking for a creation myth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [escherzo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/gifts).



> title from i know the end by phoebe bridgers .
> 
> jons trans. elias is textually neither explicitly cis or trans. this is really just exactly what it says on the tin. additional cws / clarification for the jonelias nonsense;  
> \- jon doesnt ever revoke consent or decide he doesn't want to do it anymore, but he does get nervous and overwhelmed at points  
> \- jon doesnt say (or think!) no but elias also doesnt care about checking consent levels, and actively tells him he can take more when he thinks jon might hesitate  
> \- elias is manipulative for literally no reason other than because idk he cant NOT be weird. hes like that tweet thats like i have to say weird shit or i die
> 
> words used for jon:  
> \- womb / cervix   
> \- hole/entrance/similar euphemisms  
> \- cock / cunt   
> \- chest / nipples

Elias works him open with steady, cold hands. 

Jon watches him, and Elias watches him back, because Elias doesn’t ever just look. Even when he’s just looking he’s also watching, which is different. There is a difference between watching and seeing and looking and knowing. Jon has been spending the past few months learning that intimately. 

“Relax,” Elias tells him. His fingers make a slick, squelching sound where they’re buried to the third knuckle inside of Jon. It’s a little too much, a little too fast, but they move easy enough regardless, and despite the stretch it feels _good_. It’s not really for Jon’s pleasure. It feeling nice is just a side effect of Elias getting him wet and loose enough for him to be able to do what he has to do. 

“Sorry,” Jon mumbles, and takes a deep breath. It comes out a little stuttery. The room is cool but not cold. The shivering is because of nerves. 

Elias pulls his fingers out, seemingly satisfied with his work. Cool air rushes in to fill what’s been left empty, and Jon clenches down around nothing and hisses. Elias, without offering him any sympathy or warm touch, turns around to retrieve the end of the tube attached to the drip bag. 

“What if I changed my mind?” he asks. The bag, full of viscous liquid, suspended at around Elias’ eye level when he stands up straight, looks larger every time he looks at it. There’s another one, too, he knows, somewhere hidden away from his view. Elias is nothing if not prepared, Jon thinks. There’s good and bad parts to that. 

Elias pauses, the end of the tube between two fingers. “Have you changed your mind?” he asks mildly. 

“No,” Jon says. “But if I did?”

Elias smiles. “Does it matter? If you haven’t changed your mind?”

Jon supposes that makes sense. He shakes his head quietly. Guess that’s a bridge they’ll have to cross when they get to it, if they do get to it.

So: the tube is clear and bends easily between two of Elias’ fingers. At the end there’s a little nozzle. Jon knows that when Elias gets it in place he’ll touch that little notch right under the base of the nozzle, the part that’s going to stick out, and the tip will bloom like a flower and anchor itself inside of him. Elias’ fingers slide back inside, effortlessly this time (and Jon sighs at the warm, solid presence of them, the gentle, slick slide), the tube held between two fingers. The local anesthesia has started working already, and when Elias grabs a hold of the jutting end of his cervix Jon doesn’t feel it. 

This is the part that makes Jon’s heart squeeze with something dangerously close to fear. The anticipation. The claustrophobic knowledge that when Elias starts sliding the tube in it’ll already be too late to stop. He doesn’t tell Elias he’s scared, because Elias already knows. Elias also knows that he will work through the fear, because he always does.

“Is it in?” he asks after a few seconds of Elias’ fingers moving gently around. 

“No,” Elias says. There’s a hint of smile in his voice. “Have a little patience.”

Jon tries not to fidget. Patient isn’t really how he would describe himself at the best of times, let alone right now. “Almost?” he guesses. 

Elias doesn’t look up at him. “Jonathan.”

Jon bites his lip. If he squirms Elias might miss, or he might stop completely. “Sorry,” he says.   
Elias doesn’t tell him it’s alright, but that’s okay. 

When the end of the tube slips through the still-tight resistance of his cervix he _feels_ it. 

“Oh,” Jon says in a little punched out gasp. “I thought – I thought I wasn’t supposed to feel that.”

Elias hums. “I said it wouldn’t _hurt_.”

Jon opens his mouth to say it’s the same thing, but – it doesn’t. Hurt, that is. It’s just a strange kind of pressure. Like the carving of an opening into him that he could swear hadn’t existed just a moment ago. “Right,” he mumbles. 

“You’re doing excellently, Jon,” Elias mumbles. His free hand slides to his belly, between his hips, and for a second Jon wonders if he’s trying to feel it through his skin. No way he could, Jon chastises himself. That’s ridiculous. Elias pets his skin gently, lightly, and Jon closes his eyes. It’s nice. The tube moves slowly, slowly, and even if he can’t feel it as clearly as he could, usually, it’s still a strange sensation. Elias’ hand on his skin helps. 

“There you go,” Elias says softly, finally. “Good.” He sounds _tender_. Jon’s heart blooms at the praise as Elias moves his fingers along the tube. Something inside of him moves, and then Elias _tugs_ on the tube. 

Jon, startled by the strange sensation, whimpers. “You’re fine,” Elias tells him. One broad palm pets over the trembling of his stomach. “It’s in.”

“Oh,” Jon says. He clenches down on the thin length of the tube, almost instinctively, chasing any kind of sensation to go with the strange feeling of his cervix being spread open. 

“Does it hurt?” Elias asks. 

Jon’d thought he knew it wouldn’t. “No,” he says. No reason to try to call Elias out on it. 

Elias hums thoughtfully and gives his belly a light pat before moving away to fiddle with the drip bag. “Jon,” he says, two hands working the valve attached to the tube. Jon waits for him to continue, but Elias doesn’t say anything else. 

“Yes,” he prompts. Elias looks at him and smiles. Two fingers twist open the valve, and then the liquid is first dripping, and then slowly running down the tube. “Relax,” he says. 

It takes a few moments for anything to happen. Jon lies very still, save for the occasional shiver that forces its way through his body. Maybe he won’t even feel it, he thinks, and then he wonders if it’s better or worse if he feels it. If it’s better or worse if it’s something that is not only entirely painless but also entirely unnoticeable. Would it be worse? For Elias to strap him down like this and pump him full of other men’s semen until it takes and for him to not even feel it in any meaningful way?

Jon takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes. It’s easier that way. Things usually feel less scary if you don’t have to see them happening. He’s still wondering which way would be worse when the liquid reaches his entrance. It punches a half-breath out of him, because no matter how small it is, he can’t help but focus on the feelings of it: the barely-there expanding of the tube inside of him as the liquid flows through it and all the way into him; the foreign pressure that settles and gathers; the stretch of his cervix around the flexing tube. 

It’s done, he realizes with a creeping sense of _something_. Something urgent and primal. Elias likes to be very sure of things. They both know it’s the best time possible. Elias has been making sure to keep track of these things. Jon knows with a visceral certainty that none of this is _necessary_. That they could stop right now and he’d get pregnant. But – he glances at the heavy bulge of the drip bag and the way it sways gently with the outflow of the viscous semi-opaque liquid in it – Elias likes to do things thoroughly. To make sure things happen. This is just what Elias does. 

And Jon wants to know, doesn’t he? It’s the knowing, and the feeling, and the observing. Cataloguing. The liquid moves so slowly yet so fast. Jon squeezes his eyes shut tighter and _feels_. Is it bad that he thinks he can feel the stretching of his own uterus? Is it even possible? Does he actually feel it, or is it just his endless desire to _know_ telling him things he wants to be true? He can’t hear the rush of liquid either. The insides of his thighs are damp with his own slick. 

He loses himself in just the sensations of it for a long time. When his eyes flutter open, finally, slowly, the first thing he sees is the empty chair next to the cot he’s lying on. Elias, silent and always watching, stands in the doorway, half inside, half outside. Jon hadn’t even noticed him walking so far away. When had he moved? There’s no brush of fingertips over the trembling skin of his belly, the shiver of the muscles of his thighs as they flex. Just the heavy gaze of those unnaturally green eyes, and the unrelenting pressure of both the knowledge of what’s happening and the actual, physical feeling of liquid settling in the space between his hips he’s so unused to being aware of at all. Jon closes his eyes again. 

“Jon,” Elias says. “Open your eyes.”

Jon doesn’t want to, but he does it anyway, reluctantly. When he does Elias is closer to him than he’d thought he would be. For a hazy second he wonders about teleportation. Elias keeps being in places he doesn’t expect him to be. Does he do that on purpose? One of his hands settles on Jon’s belly. 

“Elias,” he says. His voice comes out small and weak. His head feels fuzzy and light. Like his entire consciousness has been muffled underneath layers of fabric. 

Elias smiles down at him. “Look how well you’re taking it,” he says, and presses down gently on the tender skin. Jon, obedient as ever, looks, and gasps, and Elias laughs lightly. 

There’s a little bulge, there, that hadn’t been there when they’d started. Nothing too scarily big. More like if he’d just had a big lunch, or a big glass of water. A barely there bump stretching out the flat surface of his stomach. He whimpers quietly. When he glances up, the bag is about half empty. 

“Are you going to,” he pauses and licks his lips. Tries to figure out how to word his question. “Am I going to get the other bag too?”

Elias laughs. “Are you that greedy? That desperate to be filled?”

Jon flushes, embarrassed. “No,” he denies. “I just – I just want to know.”

“I know you do,” Elias says, and he sounds much more pleased than he has any right to. His hand brushes some hair off of Jon’s face. Jon thinks about biting his fingers, for a singular frustrated, petulant second. “Finish this one first.”

Jon whimpers. It’s not that it hurts, because it doesn’t – and he’s not sure what exactly it was that Elias gave to him to numb him so completely, to convince his brain that the pressure in his womb or the stretch of his cervix isn’t analogous to pain – but the knowledge of what’s happening to his body being _wrong_ on a primal level is almost enough to take the empty space reserved for hurting entirely. 

“You can take it,” Elias tells him before Jon can say anything. “You’re doing well, Jon.” 

And Jon wants nothing more than to _do well_. It’s obvious, isn’t it, he thinks semi-bitterly, even as he shivers, basking in the warmth of Elias’ approval. How he just wants Elias to think he’s _taking_ and _doing_ well. That he’s proved himself to be good enough. 

“Alright,” he agrees. Elias smiles at him, all shiny gleaming eyes, and Jon shudders under that gaze, full of teeth. He almost wishes Elias would kiss him, suddenly. Elias won’t, he knows, but that doesn’t mean he can’t wish.

It almost feels like he’s doing something wrong when he closes his eyes, but Elias doesn’t ask him to open them. It’s just that watching the steady flow of the liquid down the tube is overwhelming in its solidity. Like he can take the feeling, but being so aware of the speed and velocity makes it too real. 

By the time he can _really_ feel the pressure Elias is fiddling with the bag again. He makes a confused sound, eyes still closed, and Elias just shushes him. There’s some sounds, and then the rustling of plastic, and then the flow stops. Jon cracks a single eye open to see Elias fussing with the tube and the now-empty bag. He spares a single glance down at his distended stomach, and then closes his eyes tightly again.

Elias starts whistling a little tune under his breath. He puts the bag aside, and for a moment Jon thinks this is it – that he’s done, that this is all that Elias is going to make him take, but then there’s more plastic sounds, and then the sound of Elias attaching the tube to the other bag. 

Jon inhales sharply, and when the rapid expansion of his lungs jostles something inside of him he whines softly. “Elias,” he breathes out.

“You can take it, Jon,” Elias says softly. “You’ve already taken the other one. You don’t want this one to go to waste, do you?”

“No,” Jon tells him. Something under his skin feels stretched in a way he has never felt before. His _uterus_ , he knows. The knowledge of that is both exhilarating and horribly disturbing. It’s _exhilarating_ because it’s _knowledge_ , because he _feels_ what he’s never felt before. It’s disturbing because he’s never felt it before, and he never should. Not like this. 

So: Elias attaches the tube, and opens the valve, and the flowing of the liquid starts again. He can’t really feel it anymore, not in his slick cunt at least, too distracted by how _full_ he’s starting to feel. The novelty of the minute stretching of the tube inside of him has worn off enough that he probably couldn’t feel it even if the pressure in his stomach wasn’t so distracting. Elias comes to sit next to him again, on that little swiveling chair, and puts a single warm hand on his belly, palm down. It’s a little uncomfortable, the way the weight of it pushes down on his swollen stomach, but Jon doesn’t dare to tell Elias to take it away. The hand slides up to flick a single nipple, and Jon hisses softly. The hand slides back down. Jon tries to focus on it, expecting it to settle on his belly again, but instead it keeps moving, until Elias has two of his fingers snugly around Jon’s swollen cock.

Elias makes a semi-disapproving little noise. “Are you that excited?” 

Jon flushes, and opens his mouth to answer, but Elias isn’t interested in his response, because instead of waiting for a response or even looking at Jon he grabs a firm hold of the hood of his cock and slides it back to expose the head of it. Jon whimpers, hips bucking slightly. That _does_ make Elias look at him. 

“You’re lucky the tube is as long as it is,” he says mildly, fingers moving the hood back down towards the tip of his cock again, squeezing lightly on the downstroke. “That could’ve really hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says bashfully. He’s right. Jon thinks about the bloom of the plastic anchor deep inside of him and winces. “I’ll stay still.”

Elias raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. His hand doesn’t stop moving. “Did you know,” he says softly, almost as if he’s talking to Jon’s cock and not Jon himself, “that the common idea is that reaching an orgasm can help with impregnation?”

“Uh-huh,” Jon agrees. Elias pinches his cock and then tugs, a bit harder than Jon likes, hard enough to knock a gasp out of him. His muscles clench around nothing but the thin tube in reflex, and the motion jostles his heavy stomach enough to make him cry out.

“Of course it doesn’t matter here,” Elias says, ignoring the noise. He lets go of Jon’s cock. “The idea is that it helps the cervix to, ah, accept the semen. But you already have had a lot of help in that regard.”

Jon whines. His cock twitches. Elias’ fingers dip down to coat themselves in the slick gathering at Jon’s opening and then swipe over the shaft of his cock firmly, slowly. “Medically, there is no point to it.”

“No,” Jon agrees. The drip bag is barely a third of the way there. He feels like he’s about to burst. His stomach doesn’t look that much bigger, really, but neither his uterus nor his skin are really meant to stretch quite so much quite so fast. Elias makes a contemplating sound, fingers still pressing down on Jon’s cock, and he spreads his legs further to make more room for Elias between them. 

“Greedy,” Elias chastises him, but instead of stopping his fingers start moving faster. “You want to come anyway, don’t you?”

Jon’s not sure he _can_ , because with every second that passes with liquid pouring into him he feels more and more full in a way that is getting hard to ignore. “Yes,” he says, and then, after a pause, shyly, “please.”

Elias likes it when he asks. Elias likes it more when he begs. Elias makes a contemplative noise, and then he moves his hand so that the heel of his hand presses firmly against the entire shape of Jon’s cock. “Good boy,” he says quietly, “very good.”

And Jon could _sob_ , because more than the implied promise of getting to come, Elias telling him he’s doing good, that _he’s_ good is still, always, every time rare enough that every instance of it jolts him physically, and the motion jostles his liquid-filled womb inside of him, which in turn feels strange enough that he could cry, still. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you.”

Elias smiles at him, and Jon closes his eyes, because if he doesn’t look he can pretend that he’s about to be done, that the bag is almost empty, and that Elias is going to unhook it soon, and that soon he’s going to be allowed to let all of it out. That the pressure and the weight and all of the _feeling_ is about to be done. He likes the knowing, but he’s not sure how much more there is to know. Elias’ fingers tug and slide and touch and Jon wants to writhe and buck into the touch but he _can’t_ , not even when Elias wrings a broken whimper after a broken whimper out of him. He can feel the shine of Elias’ eyes through his own closed eyelids. 

And it’s – before, if he closed his eyes and drifted a bit, just felt and focused on nothing, it wasn’t easy but it was easy _enough_ to exist somewhere between awareness and unawareness, bask in the knowledge but not in relation to himself as much as just knowledge for the sake of knowledge, but with Elias’ fingers and intense gaze he can’t lose himself like that. He tries to, briefly, but Elias works him back to the surface of his consciousness with his knowing, firm fingers, and Jon is left trembling, thighs flexing, and near-painfully aware of the reality of what is happening. 

It’s not scary, and it doesn’t hurt. It’s just a lot. It’s so much. And like he’d been worried, every time he almost gets there the steadily increasing pressure under the skin of his belly pressing in every direction jolts him back away from his orgasm. 

“Elias,” he gasps out. “I can’t –”

“Can’t what?” Elias interrupts him. One finger ghosts over the tender skin of his entrance, the tip of it teasing the slick opening. Threatens to push in, the very tip of it just barely spreading him open for a few seconds, and then slides away again to cup his cock from the underside as Elias’ thumb works the shaft of it. 

“Please,” Jon sighs. He tries to elaborate but comes up empty. Elias moves his hand again. It’s like he just can’t commit, or maybe he knows that the constant movement keeps Jon focused on it, and that the constant refocusing keeps him from being able to come just as much as the growing, unignorable pressure does. 

Elias shushes him. “Close your eyes, Jon,” he says. Jon blinks once, like he hadn’t even realized he’d opened them at all, and then closes them obediently. Elias watches him do it, and when they’re closed Elias, quick and without asking, sucks his cock into his mouth. 

Jon’s back tenses, tries to arch into the touch, but he catches himself before he does. Stars dance across the skin of the insides of his eyelids, and his mouth opens in a wordless whine. Elias doesn’t pause to let him adjust. The tip of his tongue pokes and prods, firm and purposeful. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Like he knows exactly where to put pressure, or where to flick the tip of his tongue for just a few seconds to get Jon to tremble and shake. 

Jon wants to put his hands into Elias’ hair. He’s too nervous to move enough to do it.

One finger teases his slick, open entrance again, right above where the tube disappears into him. It makes him tense up for just a second, but Elias doesn’t tug on it, or otherwise try to touch it. The pad of his finger presses up where Jon can feel it, dulled down as it is, and his cock twitches in response. Elias hungrily hollows his cheeks around it, like he’s trying to suck the orgasm out of him. Maybe he is. The tip of his tongue taps on the sensitive head until he finds an angle where he can flick at the entire shape of it, and then just _doesn’t stop_ , and this time Jon doesn’t think _anything_ could stop him from coming. 

“Elias,” he starts to say, but the word turns into a whimper, and then a moan, and Elias hums around him, all pleased and smug. Jon shudders, muscles tensing, still so very aware of how little movement he’s allowed, and the shuddering and tensing and the deep, stuttering breaths he takes jolt and jostle him, and he _swears_ he can feel the liquid sloshing inside of him, and the heavy bounce of his stomach. 

Elias retreats almost immediately. Jon opens his eyes, hazy and overwhelmed. The heel of his hand grinds against Jon’s sensitive cock until Jon’s muscles tense, in discomfort this time, and when he takes his hand away he smiles down at Jon. All teeth. Jon shudders. 

Eventually, both sooner and later than Jon’d expected, the steady flow of liquid slows to a thin stream, and then to a drip. Jon’s gaze slides from the bag down the tube, where it disappears between his legs, and then to his swollen, distended stomach. Elias puts his hand on his belly again. Jon whimpers. He wants to move away, but the tube is still inside of him, and he promised not to move. 

“There you go,” Elias says in a low voice. He presses down gently. Just once. Just to feel the bulge of his stretched, full womb through the sensitive skin of his stomach. “Very good.”

“How long?” Jon exhales. His eyelashes flutter. He wants to close his eyes again. 

Elias smiles at him. His hand presses down just a bit firmer. Jon wonders if, were he to press down firmly enough, it could flow out of him and back through the tube all the way to where it bends to travel up. If after he takes the tube out Elias is going to make him lie there as he gently rubs and massages his tender skin until it’s all out. If he’s going to press down hard until Jon’s whining and squirming from the discomfort of it, the thick liquid coming out of him in spurts as Elias grinds his hands against the distended bulge of his stomach. Is it going to leak out without help? Without the tube his cervix will close up again. Jon wonders, hazy and suddenly worried, whether it’ll come out at all. If he’s going to have to find something else to stretch it open with just to get it all out. Is Elias going to make him stay like this until it all leaks out on its own? Is he going to keep the tube in? Just open it up again and make it flow out just as slowly as it’d been fed into him?

Jon whimpers. His hands fumble and reach towards Elias. Elias looks at him with those burning, all-seeing eyes. Face to hands to the swell of his stomach. Elias doesn’t take his hand. Instead he slides his hands up to tug on Jon’s nipples, one hand for each of them. 

“As long as it takes, Jon,” he says softly. “As long as it takes.”


End file.
